Cold Nights
by MaroonParXty
Summary: It hasn't been long since Eren was entrusted with you, Levi, and your squad, and already a storm has shrouded the night sky, the freezing wind howling through the cracks in the walls of your new home. Just your luck. You sigh. "The brat's probably cold." (Smut-free, but some language.)


You bolt upright in your bed, eyes wide, your heart beating quickly. Each breath sends chills down your spine, the cold air circulating into your lungs. So cold you can feel it.

You sigh, stretching your arms, and glance out the window. Dark, grey clouds cover the blue you're so used to seeing. The weather usually isn't too bad. A few light rainstorms every now and then, but tonight is different. Bright streaks of white flash every few seconds, and the rain pelts the old, wooden building. You draw the blankets around your body. These damn walls may as well be paper. The air hits every inch of your exposed skin like knives and cuts through your clothing, and these blankets are cold as ice.

It's probably the third time you've woken up tonight. You didn't know thunder could be so loud, and your nerves weren't helped with the thought that this building would be up in flames the moment lightning hit it.

You sigh again, rubbing your eyes. Everything feels cold, and sleep feels like miles away, but you know you can't afford to catch anything when you're supposed to be watching that kid.

The blankets should be downstairs. Maybe you'll be able to catch at least some sleep with them.

You climb out of bed, your bare feet recoiling at the contact with the frozen floorboards, but you force yourself to get up. To no surprise, the difference in temperature between the inside of your bed and the outside is almost nonexistent. You may as well be standing naked in a field of ice, for all you care. At least you'd freeze to death faster than you are now.

It's pitch dark. The clouds block even the dim light from the moon. You grab a candle and match with your numb fingers and manage to light them, but not before dropping some between the floorboards and huffing in annoyance.

With the candle secured in your fingers, you trudge to your door and push it open, wincing as the rusty hinges scream. Regardless, you open the door with some effort, and have to double your effort to close the door on the wind seeping out from your room. The air howls as it pushes through the cracks in the wooden walls, loud and eerie.

You and your squad have only lived here for a few days, and most of those days have just been spent cleaning and arranging everyone's belongings. Sure, this place won't be your permanent home, but it doesn't mean you have to sleep in the same home as the dust that's been here for a century. Either way, you hardly know where things are located. It'd be great if this place came with a map, at the least.

You tread down the hallway, the candle barely illuminating a few feet in front of you before your path is drowned in darkness. You pass a few closed doors, but you already know what's on the other side: your comrades, probably slumbering soundly. They always could, somehow.

Well, lucky them.

You stop, eyeing the ground in front of you. Stairs. You take each step carefully, the tips of your fingers running along the icy wooden railing until your feet hit the ground floor. The walls shake around you, the wind seemingly louder down here. Like the entire upstairs will crash and splinter onto your head in a matter of seconds.

Hopefully, it won't.

You continue blindly through the building, vaguely recognizing each room as you pass through them and pushing your sleep-deprived mind to memorize them. The kitchen, the library, the dining room, and a series of other empty rooms that would be futile to remember, much less distinguish from one another. You narrow your eyes as you walk through each of them. So much left to do before this house is even inhabitable.

After what feels like ages, you reach the room you know you placed the laundry in the first day. It had been admittedly stupid to place things like clothing in the room as far away from the bedrooms as possible, but it was too late now. You grimace. There's only one blanket left in the cabinet- Hange probably took the rest to warm her precious titans. You grab the last blanket roughly, as if it were the blanket's fault you had to make your way through the length of this house just to be able to get some sleep.

You're about to turn around to leave the room when you stop in your tracks. Opposite from where you stand is yet another set of stairs.

The basement.

Your body is itching to leave, to go back upstairs and get some much-needed sleep. To finally be warm, for once.

But you sigh, turning around.

The brat's probably cold.

You trudge down the stairs, and with each step the temperature seems to drop a few degrees until you can feel yourself visibly shaking. How the hell did this kid sleep here the last few nights without freezing to death?

Now that you're underground, the howls of the wind have drowned out, leaving behind a satisfying silence you've been craving ever since the storm began. At least he has one thing going for him.

You're practically walking on ice as your feet touch the same ground Eren's bed stands on. You've commanded him to not leave the basement during the night under any circumstances, but you doubt he would have anyways. The stone floor was unforgiving.

And even if it hadn't been below freezing downstairs, you know he'd stay. He was surprisingly… cooperative. Always showing respect, always obeying whatever any of you told him to do. He was like a loyal dog, of some sorts.

A dog you kicked the shit out of a few days ago, but still a dog.

You stand still, staring at his bed a few feet away. Somehow, he's asleep, and heavily. How he managed to sleep in what might as well be a frozen tundra, you don't know. Regardless, he makes no motion to indicate he notices your presence as you step closer to his bed.

For the first time, you can see the places on his face where you'd beaten him. On his cheek, under his eye. His head is wrapped in bandages, his hair limply hanging over his forehead. You know you had to go to that extent to win over the judge, but his bruises were black and purple. His lip was split. You wouldn't be surprised if you'd even broken a rib, judging by how hard you'd impacted him.

You purse your lips. You wouldn't blame him if he hated you.

Suddenly, he stirs, and you draw in a breath, quickly retreating to the stairs in case he wakes up. He stops moving again, his bruised face tilted in your direction, but his eyes are shut tightly. Still asleep.

You scoff lightly, shaking your head at your own panic. The candle flickers, giving off a warning that it's nearing the end of its wick. You should go.

You're about to turn to leave when you notice his breathing is irregular, quick and erratic. The bed creaks slightly as he shivers in his restless sleep.

He's probably freezing.

You sigh. The blanket feels heavy in your hands. God damn it.

Eren jolts awake to the thump of a neatly folded blanket landing next to his face. Your neatly folded blanket. Finally being warm would have been great, but against your wishes you bitterly drop your blanket onto his bed, making sure to wake him from his sleep, as if it were his fault he was freezing to death and you happened to be in a giving mood.

You meet his eyes and scowl at him for a moment before turning your back on him and retreating back up the stairs. You can feel his wide eyes staring at you as you leave.

A waste of twenty minutes and a blanket.

He'd better be grateful.


End file.
